Free The Masquerading Magician by Gigi Pandian Page A

paused before hopping onto his bike. “You know you’re wearing Mom Jeans, right?” he said.
    â€œThat bad?”
    â€œWorse. So much worse.”
    That was the last straw. My bank account was too low to commission the tailored clothing I was used to, I didn’t want to put in the hours required to sew myself clothing from scratch, and I doubted I could afford anything decent from a department store—not to mention the fact that I didn’t understand the social mores of shopping in a multi-floor department store inside a mall. That was one modern invention I’d only watched from afar. One of the few times I’d ventured inside a mall, my senses had been assaulted by a barrage of perfumes and powders that the “helpful” sales clerks wanted to show me. I fled before making it through the cosmetics section. But I was only putting off the inevitable. I was too old to get better at transmuting lead into gold, but learning how to shop in a mall had to be marginally easier. Didn’t it? As soon as I figured out how to save Dorian, I would reinvent myself.
    â€œI’ll look after the library book,” I said. As soon as Brixton disappeared down the driveway, I hopped into my truck. I had my own destination to reach. I didn’t know what to make of the alchemical woodcut that showed an angel turning to stone, but there was something much more immediate I could do.
    The library’s newspaper archives were extensive. I had no trouble finding scans of the original newspaper editions from the spring of 1969, when the infamous train robbery had taken place.
    In the days following the crime that had killed guard Arnold Burke—and resulted in the thief’s death as well—the local newspapers reported on different aspects of the train heist. Several reporters quoted conflicting accounts of the heist from eyewitnesses, one reporter wrote a profile of the heroic guard, and an enterprising investigative journalist dug into the past of Franklin Thorne so quickly that his story appeared the day after the heist. There was also speculation about what would have driven Thorne, a toy maker, to become a thief. The most widely accepted explanation was that the Thorne family had once been quite wealthy, but had fallen on hard times a generation before. As wide-ranging as the stories were, all of the reporters agreed on one thing: aside from a childless older sister, Franklin Thorne had no family.
    I read through newspaper stories from the first few days after the theft and shootings, then I rested my head on the library table and closed my eyes. The fake wood surface smelled of plastic and bleach. Peter Silverman, aka stage magician Prometheus, aka murderous thief Franklin Thorne, had nothing to do with me. He wasn’t here to find a fellow alchemist. He was here to retrieve riches he stole decades ago, now that renewed interest meant that someone else could get their hands on it.
    I lifted my head, and my hand moved instinctively back to the archives. I stopped myself. Peter Silverman isn’t your problem, Zoe .
    But if Brixton was right, could he be my solution?

Ten
    â€œWhy are you sitting on the sofa in your imperméable ?” asked my gargoyle, his dark gray brows drawn together.
    â€œI was all set to go out and confront a problem, until I thought better of it.” I sat stiffly on the green velvet couch, my silver raincoat buttoned over my awkward clothing and the keys to my truck in my hands.
    If Peter Silverman was a murderer who was back in town to find the loot he thought was lost, why would he admit to being an alchemist? Even if I could get him to open up to me, was an alliance with a dangerous alchemist worth the risk? I’ve survived for centuries because I listen to my intuition. And my intuition was screaming at me that I should steer clear of Peter Silverman. But at the same time, if his help could save Dorian’s life …
    Dorian hopped up on